Lost and Found Time
by CosmicJourney
Summary: It's Father's Day on the Enterprise, and Jim has been acting strangely. McCoy, as usual, is at his side- and that's exactly what Jim's counting on.


**Warning: Allusions to child abuse.**

* * *

It's Father's Day, and McCoy really shouldn't be so surprised that Kirk has been acting strangely.

It's unexpected, but not entirely unusual, McCoy rationalizes. At least, that's how he rationalizes until he remembers Pike's death six months earlier.

Right. That would account for a level of avoidance usually reserved for his birthday, a day most spent remembering the _Kelvin_ disaster. Back at the academy, it generally meant Jim would spend the entire day in their shared quarters, nursing a bottle of liquor and being dead to the world. Since this was now impossible due to his being Captain on the _Enterprise_, he settled for being subdued and jumpy.

Jumpy being the operative word here. The young captain was always keyed up, pumping and burning and pounding with adrenaline, but always steady and focused. Today he fidgeted, nearly imperceptibly, in the Captain's chair. McCoy had noticed it the several times he'd made his way to the bridge to report to Spock on some crewmen who had been injured in engineering.

It appeared he wasn't the only one who noticed. The movements were so small, the glazed look in the captain's eyes so thin, that only the most perceptive of the bridge crew noticed that anything was amiss. Unsurprisingly, it was Spock and Uhura who exchanged concerned looks- well, looks that were _probably_ concerned, but dammit if McCoy couldn't tell with the hobgoblin and the stoic lieutenant. Each time McCoy left the bridge, he could feel the small seed of worry grow.

He ran into Jim later in the mess hall. Unsurprisingly, the kid wasn't eating- he never did when he was upset. Instead, he was speaking with Scotty and some other engineering crewmen, probably filling them in on their friends' conditions. It was just like him, to soothe everyone's worries in an attempt to forget his own.

When finally the conversation ended and Jim was turning to leave the mess hall, McCoy placed a hand on his should to spin him around. It was such a familiar gesture, so fundamental in the forming of their friendship, that McCoy didn't even think about it- until Jim flinched away, crystal eyes wide and unfocused.

It'd been years since the last time Jim had shied away from him. He'd thought they were past that- past all the contradictions that make up Jim Kirk, his instinctual craving for touch and his integrated wariness of being hurt. Just as it had every time before, Jim's fearful reaction awoke a protective rage in McCoy that he had to fight to control. "Jim, what's wrong?"

As quickly as the spooked look had come into his eyes, it was gone. His signature wide, golden grin replaced it, so charming and youthful and exuberant that McCoy was almost tempted to believe it. He may have believed it, too, had he not glanced down and seen the trembling of Jim's hands and the stiffness in his shoulders. "Hey, Bones," he said cheerily, "you snuck up on me."

"Uh-huh," McCoy replied skeptically, gently placing his hand on Jim's shoulder again and peering into his eyes, searching for a brightness that could be attributed to fever and finding nothing out of the ordinary. "Do you feel alright? Dizzy? Nauseous?"

Jim snorted and batted his hand away, completely normal, completely fine, if not for the still-present tremor in his hands. "Bones, I'm good. Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something…"

McCoy was hardly listening, noticing now the pallor of the captain's skin and the darker-than-normal circles under his eyes. _He hasn't been sleeping_, McCoy realized. Of course, Jim's sleep cycles were never regular, fluctuating between thirty minutes and eight hours, always punctuated by nightmares. Maybe he was just worrying too much-

"Bones."

"What?" McCoy looked back to Jim's eyes, realizing he'd completely spaced out while the captain was speaking. Jim seemed somewhat distressed, as though he was having second thoughts about whatever he'd wanted to talk to Bones about.

"I just, uh," he shuffled his feet, looking uncomfortable, completely out of character. "I was wondering if you'd come by my quarters, after your shift. We could, uh, have a drink, my treat. I just, there's something I wanted to talk to you about…" Jim trailed off, realizing he was talking in circles, and he blinked owlishly at his CMO, waiting for his reply with baited breath.

McCoy wasn't entirely sure how to respond in this situation. Hell, he could write a book on how to deal with James T. Kirk, but he'd never experienced anything like this from him before. Usually, he had no trouble asking him over for a drink- they were best friends, dammit, and they shouldn't tiptoe around each other. McCoy was a second away from telling him that, from pointing out his strange behavior, when he realized Jim was watching him, anxiety etched on his face. "Yeah, sure, kid. I'll be there."

Jim grinned at that, some degree of relief making itself known in the appearance of deep smile lines around his eyes and mouth. "Okay, I'll see you then." The captain clapped his shoulder once before he turned and left, likely heading back to the bridge. McCoy stood there for a moment longer, thinking over the strange encounter, when Nurse Chapel called him over his PADD, and he returned to the med bay.

* * *

Hours later, McCoy was returning to his quarters when he suddenly remembered Jim's invitation. Exhaustion dragged at his feet and pulled at his eyelids, but he couldn't deny he'd looked forward to spending time with his best friend. Since becoming captain, Jim had almost always been busy, and it was rare for the two of them to get the time to see one another.

However, as he turned and began walking to the captain's quarters, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of foreboding. Jim's earlier behavior had been suspicious- perhaps he had bad news. But he'd seemed almost excited, reminiscent of a child the night before Christmas. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad.

Within minutes, McCoy stood at his friend's door. He cleared his throat. "Hey, Jim, it's McCoy."

"Oh- uh…" He heard a brief scrambling inside, followed by a large bang, and finally silence. This stretched on for a moment, before Jim finally called out, "alright, come on in!"

The doors slid open, and McCoy stepped inside, the door sliding shut behind him. Jim stood in front of him, still in his command gold, his hands behind his back and a wide smile on his face.

"Alright, what's this about?" McCoy stepped forward to move around Jim, but he put his hand out, telling the doctor to stay put. "You're real weird, you know that?"

"Yup." Jim grinned wider, but he looked more nervous now, biting his lip as the grin faded. "Uh, just stand right there, 'cause I want to do this right, and, uh…" He shuffled his feet on the ground, looking to McCoy's bemused face, to the ground, and back again. "Just… here." He thrust his other hand out, this one holding a small wrapped present.

McCoy stared at the present, noticing the fine tremor in Jim's hand. Without lifting his head, he looked at Jim, his raised eyebrows conveying his confusion. The captain smiled widely in response, so McCoy rolled his eyes and took the present. "What the hell is this?"

"You're supposed to open it, I think." The genuine uncertainty in his voice would have been funny, if it wasn't a little bit heartbreaking. "You're not only supposed to wrap things for Christmas, right? You still do it for birthdays and other holidays?"

"Yup," as always, whenever Jim asked a question about family that should have been obvious, McCoy answered with no inflection in his voice, no judgment or questioning. He stared at the small, rectangular box, covered in silver-and-red striped wrapping paper and with a large red bow. "Why exactly am I getting a gift?" He'd gotten a call from Joanna earlier- he was pretty satisfied, as far as presents went.

"Just- just open it." Jim answered, impatience and anxiety showing in the shifting of his weight from one foot to the other.

McCoy breathed out heavily through his nose. "Fine." He peeled away the wrapping paper, aware of Jim's scrutinizing eyes on him, and revealed the white cardboard box underneath. He opened the box, and inside saw a watch, the old-fashioned kind, gold and silver and shiny.

"I picked it up at Starbase XII," Jim explained. "It's one of those old-timey ones- hand crafted, no replicator involved- they're kind of rare now, but I read somewhere that it was tradition, so…" he trailed off, the smile gone from his face, no more shifting of his weight. Like a statue, he watched his best friend, a tenseness in his shoulders that spoke of an uncertainty his face did not show.

McCoy looked at the watch closely. It was beautiful, and had probably cost a fair amount of credits- really, a handmade watch? He truly appreciated the thought that went into it, but…

"Happy Father's Day." Jim said, quietly, insecurely, not once looking at the doctor.

Oh.

_Oh._

Sometimes, it was easy to forget that Jim really was just a kid, because beneath all the bravado and cockiness and boundless energy, he was confident in his abilities. It was only when personal matters came into question that one could see the turmoil, the confusion, the footing he hadn't regained since his childhood. "Jim…"

"I know, you're not that old," he forced a grin, one that didn't make the deep lines appear around his eyes. He walked back further into the room, to where he'd set up two glasses of brandy on a small wooden table. He was about to grab one, to take a long swig, but seemed to think better of it at the last moment. His hands clenched at his sides, but still he didn't look at his best friend. "I just… I never told Pike, and I know I should've, but it's so hard to…"

He gestured lamely, and the doctor felt a deep stirring in his heart for the young man. This wasn't what he'd been expecting for tonight. Casual drinks, bad jokes, getting exasperated and saying 'dammit, Jim,' while he laughed heartily until he couldn't breathe. McCoy wanted that for Jim. He didn't want him to ever be this poor, unsure man who'd only known fists and belts and had seen his only decent father figure die in pain and fear.

Jim knew he understood, must have known, but he pressed on, trying to explain something he'd never been taught, his arms crossed in a way that looked like he was hugging himself closely, like he must have done when he was a child. "He was my father, in every way that mattered, and I never… I never told him what he meant to me. And you-" he looked at McCoy then, his ice-blue eyes guarded and controlled and not matching his heartfelt words, "I won't let… you can't go like he…" He scrubbed one hand down his face, turning away, fighting the way his body told him to run. "I just want you to know-"

McCoy didn't let him continue. He set down the watch and he stepped forward, enfolding the young captain in his arms, placing a hand at the back of his head and pushing him down against his shoulder. Jim stiffened immediately, his arms hanging awkwardly at his sides, and McCoy wanted to scream.

This wasn't Jim. His Jim fought, hackles raised and fangs bared and resilience in his stance. But perhaps, he thought in a single humbling moment, this was the most of Jim he'd ever seen, the most intimate moment he'd ever shared, the helpless cub hidden deep within the snarling wolf. So he gripped him tighter.

Tentatively, Jim's hands rose from his sides and crept up McCoy's back, finally resting at his shoulder blades. His fingers curled minutely into the fabric of the doctor's uniform, and McCoy could feel the tension leave his body in a single breath. "Thank you," he whispered, slightly muffled, "for everything, Bones."

"Shut up, you idiot," McCoy huffed, smiling though he knew his friend couldn't see. "Thank you for the watch. And, for your information, I am not that old."

* * *

**Thank you very much for reading!**

** I was going to add some references to Tarsus, but I haven't quite worked out my headcanon for it yet, so maybe next time. Actually, almost definitely next time, because like most Star Trek writers I have some inexplicable urge to torture Jim?**

**Please review! They make my day!**


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